


Home for Christmas

by PennyLane



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through a series of unexpected events, Peter Venkman finds himself alone over Christmas. What to get into...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for Christmas

 

            "Anything in there for me, Janine?"

            At the sound of Peter's too-casual question Winston Zeddemore looked up from his task of replacing some fallen tinsel on the Christmas tree.  Catching their secretary's eye, he could see from her look that although there was, indeed, something in the mail for Peter, it wasn't what he had been hoping for.

            "Sure thing, Doctor Venkman," Janine Melnitz said cheerfully, holding out a handful of envelopes. "Here you go."

            His face carefully neutral, Peter accepted the mail and quickly sifted through the envelopes. Only because he was watching so closely—and knew the psychologist so well—did Winston notice the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face.

            "Thanks, Janine. I'll be upstairs."

            Winston watched the brown-haired man disappear up the stairs, turning when the secretary muttered something under her breath. She looked decidedly ticked-off.

            "You know, I like Peter's father," she began with a frown, "but..."

            "But you'd think the guy could take the time to send a card or pick up the phone and call his only kid at Christmas," Zeddemore finished, a little ticked-off himself. "I know what you mean. Man, I just knew this was gonna happen. I think Pete knew it, too, but he kept hoping."

            Janine sighed as she got to her feet and wandered over to join him at the tree, absently rearranging some of the ornaments. "He always seems to get so down this time of year. I know he doesn't have a lot of good memories of Christmas when he was a kid," she added, with a look that told him she knew about Mr. Venkman's absences when Peter was growing up. "But these last couple of years, he's gotten a little better." She glanced at the stairs, then threw him a discerning smile. "I think having you guys around has helped. He knows he can count on you and Ray and Egon to be here."

            He nodded thoughtfully, remembering the first couple of Christmases the Ghostbusters had been together. Peter _had_ gotten better about the holiday, joining in the preparation and spirit in a way that made it seem that he was finally putting his past disappointments behind him. Of course, here it was Christmas Eve, and his father still hadn't so much as sent him a card. "Ray should be back from his aunt's soon, and they'll be picking Egon up at the airport tonight," Winston reminded her. "That oughta take his mind off his dad."

            "I hope so." The tree decorations rearranged to her satisfaction, the secretary went back to her desk. "But if I had Mr. Venkman on the phone right now, I'd be tempted to give him a piece of my mind."

            She sounded mad enough to do it, too. Zeddemore grinned to himself. As much as he wanted Pete's dad to call, it might be just as well if the elder Venkman didn't phone right this minute.

            "Going to church with your folks tonight, Winston?"

            "That's the plan," he answered, joining her as Janine tidied up her desk. "We'll open our presents tonight, then I'll come on back here for Christmas. How about you?"

            "The whole family's going to be at my mom's for Christmas dinner tomorrow, and we'll all spend the day there." She picked up her purse and looked around for any last minute details she might have overlooked. "Well, that's it, I guess. Unless you think you might need me..."

            "Pete's already given you the rest of the day off, Janine," he reminded her with a grin. "Better go before he changes his mind."

            "You have a point." Walking over to the stairs, she called, "Doctor Venkman, I'm going now."

            Almost immediately, Peter appeared at the top of the stairs and bounced down, looking like his normal, amiable self. But his eyes weren't quite as bright, Winston noticed, and his smile not as roguish as usual. "Already? What do you think this is, Melnitz? Christmas Eve?"

            "Yes, Ebenezer," she retorted dryly. Turning to Winston, she gave him a hug. "Merry Christmas, Winston."

            He responded with a kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Janine. Have a good one."

            Zeddemore watched with amusement as the secretary turned to the psychologist with a glint in her eye. She was going to drag Peter into the Christmas spirit, whether he liked it or not. There was wariness in Venkman's eyes as she approached him, as if he suspected some kind of trick, but when she pulled him into a hug, he responded after only a brief hesitation.

            "Merry Christmas, Peter."

            There was another pause before he retorted, "Yeah, you too, Janine."

            As the secretary turned and walked past Winston to the door, they exchanged a look of exasperation mixed with concern. Strolling back to the office area, Winston had just about decided to try to interest Peter in a game of chess when the phone rang.

            Venkman threw him a mischievous look as he headed for Janine's desk. "Feel up to a bust, Winston?"

            "No," he said sternly, fixing him with a warning frown, "and neither do you. No busts on Christmas Eve, Peter. You promised."

            "Did I?" The psychologist was still grinning as he picked up the phone and answered in his smoothest voice, "Ghostbusters. Doctor Venkman speaking."

            Zeddemore shook his head. Peter could always make that sound like, "The _famous_ Doctor Venkman speaking." He listened as Peter dropped his 'business' voice and shot him a smile. "Yes, ma'am. He's right here." Holding out the receiver, the psychologist said, a little wistfully, "It's your mom."

 

            Venkman looked up with a little smile when he heard Winston hang up the phone with a whoop that sounded throughout the fire station. As soon as he was satisfied it wasn't bad news, he had retired to his office to give Zeddemore some privacy. He could hear the older man thudding closer and he swung around in his chair to greet him.

            "Hey, Pete! Guess what?" From the smile that stretched Winston's mouth ear-to-ear, it was definitely good news. Before Peter could come up with an appropriately flippant reply, Winston continued excitedly, "My cousin, Kenny, is home for Christmas! He's in the Army and he's been stationed in Germany; hasn't been home for Christmas in three years! He didn't tell anyone because he wasn't sure he'd be able to get a flight back. Then, he just showed up on his folks' doorstep. He's only got a forty-eight hour pass, but still..." The black man stopped long enough to take a breath. "Man, all us kids grew up like brothers. I haven't seen Kenny in..."

            "Too long," Peter interrupted dryly. "So what are you doing here?" Pushing himself to his feet, he leaned casually against the wall, hands in his pockets. "We'll miss you tomorrow, but we won't open the presents until you get back, and I promise to save you at least one glass of my famous eggnog."

            Gratitude flooded the black man's face. Then, just as quickly, it disappeared. "I hate runnin' out on you like this—"

            Venkman waved that aside. "Come on, Winston. Ray'll be home any time now and we'll be picking up Egon tonight. I'll give 'em your regrets, but they'll understand. After all..." He clapped the other man on the arm. "Family's family."

            Zeddemore's dark eyes warmed. "There's all kinds of family, m'man," he said softly. "Thanks." Holding his hand high, he gave the psychologist a hearty high-five. "Merry Christmas, Pete."

            Venkman turned on his brightest smile, and responded with a light, "Right back at you, Winston."

 

 

            Peter wandered around the silent, empty fire house, feeling restless and lonely. Winston had only been gone a couple of hours, and he had been checking his watch every fifteen minutes, wondering when Ray was coming back. A loud burp behind him made him turn sharply, eyes narrowing. There was Slimer oozing through the wall, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

            "Sliiimer!"

            The psychologist's warning tone made the green ghost pull up short. If he had been a cat, there would have been no doubt where the canary was. "Who...me?"

            "Yes, you." Walking over to the floating ghost, Peter levelled a dark look at him. "Fair warning, spud. You lay one ectoplasmic finger on our eats for tomorrow, and I will personally feed you to the containment unit. Capice?"

            Slimer back up a few feet and looked nervously around, as if seeking assistance.

            A slow, wicked grin spread Venkman's lips as he saw a chance to have some fun. "We're alone here, Slimer," he told the spud in a soft, sing-song voice. "No one here to help you. And no one to _stop_ me." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

            The little ghost looked around anxiously. "Ray? Winston?"

            "Nope. Ray's not back yet, and Winston went to visit his family." Peter widened his smile. "It's just you, me...and the containment unit."

            "Aaagh!" With a yelp, Slimer shot through the ceiling and disappeared from sight.

            Peter stood staring at the stain of green ectoplasm on the ceiling, then sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have done that. After all, Slimer _was_ company, and even bad company was better than no company at all. Sighing again, he turned and continued wandering through the building.

            The sudden shrill ringing of the phone in the silent fire house made him jump, but he dashed over to Janine's desk and snatched it up. "Ghostbusters. Doctor Venkman."

            "Pete, it's Ray."

            "Doctor Stantz." Delighted to hear his friend's voice—even company over the phone was welcome—Peter slouched comfortably in Janine's chair. "How's Aunt Lois? Haven't found any more ghosts to bust over there, have you?"

            "No, nothing like that."

            Ray sounded awfully subdued, and Peter sat up straighter, immediately alert. This was not the same bubbly Ray Stantz who had left the house that morning. "Ray, what's wrong?"

            "Nothing's wrong," was the hesitant reply. "Exactly."

            "Okay," he said with exaggerated patience, "what exactly _is_ it? Come on, Ray," he pressed, when Stantz didn't answer, "tell Uncle Peter what's going on."

            He could hear the younger man's sigh over the phone. "Remember I told you Aunt Lois' daughter lives in Pennsylvania and she was supposed to drive up for Christmas?" Peter nodded into the phone. "Well, she called this morning. Her little girl broke out in chicken pox and they can't make the trip." Ray sighed again, unhappily. "It's Aunt Lois' only child and her only grandchild, Peter, and she was really looking forward to spending Christmas with them. I've been trying all afternoon to get her on a bus or train to get her down there, but everything's booked solid."

            Peter smiled, knowing his friend well enough to know what was coming. "So you're going to drive her to Pennsylvania so she can spend Christmas with her daughter and granddaughter."

            "She didn't asked me to, Peter, but—"

            "But you're a good nephew," Venkman finished with a dry smile. "Don't apologize, Ray. More aunts should have nephews like you. When do you think you'll get back?"

            Some eagerness crept back into the occultist's voice. "Well, it's an eight-hour drive, but if I leave now and make good time, I figure I can be back by early tomorrow morning—"

            "Whoa! Hold it, buddy." Peter leaned over Janine's desk, frowning. "An eight-hour drive one-way? And you think you're going to turn around and drive _back_? No the hell way," he said flatly.

            "But, Peter, if I do that, I can be back in time for Christmas—"

            "Sure," he interrupted sternly, "and I can get a phone call from the police at two o'clock in the morning. 'Sorry, Doctor Venkman, but Doctor Stantz fell asleep at the wheel and wrapped his car around a telephone pole. Merry Christmas.' You try a stupid stunt like driving back tonight and I will personally disembowel your Stay Puft Marshmallow Man doll. You got that?" He put as much menace as he could manage into the threat, and was answered by silence. His tone softened. "Ray? Talk to me, buddy."

            "But I won't be there for Christmas, Peter."

            They both knew what he meant. Ever since Ray Stantz had come into his life, he had been a sort of antidote to the depression that seemed to settle over Peter during the holiday season. Ray's enthusiasm and cheerfulness had gone a long way toward helping him enjoy Christmas. He was going to sorely miss that.

            "I know, pal," he said softly. "But I prefer you in one piece and a day late rather than in a lot of little pieces on Christmas morning." He paused, then added, "Promise me, Ray."

            The resulting sigh told him he was correct in demanding a promise. "Okay, Peter."

            "Look," he said, trying to sound upbeat, "we won't open the presents until you get back, and I promise to save you at least one glass of my famous eggnog. How's that?" No point in telling him about Winston's plans and that it would only be he and Egon here for Christmas.

            "Okay. Well, I guess I'd better get going. I want to get on the road before it gets too late."

            "Drive careful, kiddo." As soon as he said it, Peter rolled his eyes. Look who he was telling to drive carefully. The Pennsylvania Turnpike would never be the same.

            "I will. And...Merry Christmas, Peter."

            Peter forced a smile into the phone. "Yeah, you too, Ray."

 

            Peter took another sip of his 'famous eggnog' and smiled to himself. He had altered the recipe just a bit. Just enough, he thought gleefully, to get Egon tipsy. That ought to make for an interesting Christmas Eve.

            He was still taste-testing when the phone rang again. "Ghostbusters. Doctor Venkman."

            "Peter, it's Egon."

            "Egon, my man." Grinning at his glass of eggnog, Peter settled into a chair. "What's up?" Then he glanced at his watch. "Shouldn't _you_ be up? In the air, I mean? Or are you calling from the plane?" he added dryly.

            "No, I'm still at my uncle's. I'm afraid there's a problem, Peter."

            Egon had flown out to Ohio to spend a few days with his uncle and was supposed to be flying back today. But the uneasy tone of his voice made Peter wonder with a stab of apprehension whether Uncle Cyrus had put pressure on him again to join his research lab. "What's wrong, Egon?" he asked carefully.

            "We're in the middle of a snowstorm out here, and they've closed the airport." Peter let out a silent sigh of relief; snowstorms he could deal with. "Peter." Egon's voice held an odd note of hesitation. "They don't expect to be able to reopen the airport until tomorrow, and with all the holiday air traffic that's being backed up...I'm afraid I won't be able to get back for Christmas."

            Peter sat in stunned silence for the longest time, feeling a strange sort of emptiness spread inside him. First Winston, then Ray...and now Egon. Christmas had always been a little easier for him to handle when Egon was around. In fact, between Egon and Ray and Winston, he had actually begun thinking of Christmas as something to look forward to. He should have known better, he thought darkly. That's what you got when you let your guard down.

            "Peter? Are you still there?"

            "Yeah, sure, I'm here," he said hastily.

            "I'm really sorry I won't be able to be there."

            Egon sounded very upset, too, and Venkman tried to shake himself out of the old familiar feeling of disappointment he felt settling over him. "Hey, it's not your fault. Last time I checked, Spengs, you weren't controlling the weather." He assumed his most cheerful tone, hoping it didn't sound as forced to Egon as it did to his own ears. "We'll miss you on Christmas, but we won't open the presents until you get back, and I promise to save you at least one glass of my famous eggnog," he said, mechanically repeating the same speech he had given Winston and Ray. "We'll celebrate all over again when you get back, how's that?"

            "Yes, well, that will be fine." But Peter recognized that tone of voice. He could almost see the pensive frown on the physicist's face. "Is Winston there with you?"

            "Running errands," he lied.

            "Is Ray back from his aunt's yet? If he is—"

            "Not yet. But any minute now," he said smoothly, compounding the deception. He didn't like lying to Egon, but he wasn't about to tell him he was left alone for Christmas. There wasn't anything Egon could do about it, and it would only ruin his Christmas, too. "It's just the spud and me holding down the fort."

            "I see." There was a very pregnant pause. "Peter, is everything all right?"

            "Sure," he said quickly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

            "You seem a little...down."

            He thought fast. "You know how it is, Egon. I haven't heard from Pop in almost a year, and I thought maybe..." He sighed convincingly. "You know him. He probably doesn't even know it's Christmas."

            "Yes, I know." There was a note of mild disapproval in Spengler's voice, which he covered immediately. "But Christmas isn't over yet. Perhaps tomorrow..."

            "Sure. Maybe tomorrow."

            "Well..." Egon seemed reluctant to break the connection. "You have my uncle's number here...if you want to talk—"

            "I know," he broke in quickly. "Thanks."

            "All right then. I'll call as soon as I know what flight I'll be on." Then, softly, Spengler added, "Merry Christmas, Peter."

            His hand tightened on the receiver. "You, too, big guy." Then, before he could change his mind, he gently replaced the receiver in the cradle. It was only then, in the abrupt silence of the empty fire station, that it really sank in. He was going to be alone on Christmas. Really alone.

            "Yeah," he said bitterly. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

            It occurred to him suddenly that all he had to do was pick up the phone and call Winston. He knew what Zeddemore would say. Then he shook his head and sank back in the chair. He'd be a fifth wheel at a family gathering; and besides, Winston and his cousin would be catching up and reminiscing...he'd just be intruding.

            A thoughtful frown gathered on his face. But Ray...he could ride along and spell him at the wheel. If they did that, they _could_ turn around and drive back to New York tonight. At least the two of them could spend Christmas together. Sitting up suddenly, he grabbed Janine's roledex and found Aunt Lois' number. Quickly punching out the number, he tapped his fingers impatiently as he counted off the unanswered rings. Finally, he put the phone down. Ray had already left.

            He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Slimer poking his head cautiously through the wall. "Aw, come on out, spud," he mumbled, waving him over. "I'm not gonna blast you."

            The green ghost eased out the rest of the way and floated closer, as if sensing his change of mood.

            "Well, it's just you and me for Christmas, little guy. Winston's with his family, Ray's driving his aunt to Pennsylvania, and Egon's snowed in in Ohio."

            Slimer looked at Peter sympathetically. "Peter all alone?"

            Peter drained the last of his eggnog. "Yeah. Peter all alone." Suddenly, he pushed himself to his feet. "Come on, spud. Let's watch some TV or something."

            "And eat?" Slimer asked hopefully.

            Why not? "Sure. I'll make you some popcorn."

            Finally, with a bowl of popcorn between them, Peter settled down on the sofa with Slimer hovering over his shoulder. He clicked on the TV and flipped quickly through Christmas specials and cartoons until he found an old movie. It only took a few seconds for him to recognize it: It's a Wonderful Life. He took it for about fifteen minutes before he gave up and went to bed.

***

            "Peter? Egon? Winston?" Ray walked through the ground floor of the silent fire station. "Anybody home?"

            He stopped at Ecto's empty parking space and frowned thoughtfully. Maybe they had a call. On Christmas? He moved over to the lockers and checked inside. A few minutes later, his frown deepened. Only one proton pack missing and everyone's jumpsuit was in their lockers, except Peter's. What the heck was going on?

            The sound of a car door slamming outside and familiar laughter brought him quickly back to the office area. Winston was standing in the doorway waving to a car just pulling away. When he turned around, he greeted Ray with a broad smile. "Ray, Merry Christmas, m'man."

            "Merry Christmas, Winston," he returned happily, and asked, "Where is everyone?"

            The black man sent him a blank look. "You're askin' me? Don't you know?"

            "How could I know?" Stantz asked reasonably. "I just got back."

            Winston was still staring at him. "Got back from where?"

            Ray felt like he was caught up in an Abbott and Costello sketch. "Back from Pennsylvania."

            "What the heck were you doin' in Pennsylvania?"

            "I drove my aunt there," he explained, his puzzlement growing. "Didn't Peter tell you? Gee, Winston," he said, with an air of hurt pride, "didn't you wonder where I was this morning?"

            "Ray, the last thing I heard from Pete was that you were comin' back Christmas Eve. And I didn't wonder where you were this morning because I thought you were _here_. I spent the day with my family. My cousin got a forty-eight hour leave and..." Zeddemore's eyes widened. "Wait a minute. Are you tellin' me..."

            "Neither one of us were here," Stantz finished with sudden realization. "But Peter didn't say anything about you not being here when I called. I said I could drive back and be here in time for Christmas, but he was afraid I'd fall asleep or something on the way back and he wouldn't let me." He grinned sheepishly. "I probably would have, too. I was pretty wiped out by the time we got there."

            "Then it's a good thing you didn't try." Zeddemore looked around the empty station. "So it was just Egon and Peter. Wish I'd have known," he murmured to himself. "They could've come over with me."

            "Pete's a little funny about that," Ray explained with a small smile. "Egon and I both tried in college to get him to come home with us for Christmas, but we couldn't get him to budge. I think it's a little uncomfortable for him being with other families at Christmas. It just kind of reminds him, you know..."

            Winston nodded. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that." Then he lightened his tone. "Well, it looks like he and Egon found something to get into anyhow. They must've gone somewhere."

            "There's a proton pack missing," Ray told him, "and Peter's jumpsuit. You don't think they went on a bust, do you?"

            "With one proton pack?" the older man retorted dryly. "I don't think so. Did you check for messages? Maybe they left us a note or something."

            "Nothing that I could see, but..." For the first time, Ray noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. "Hey, maybe this is something." Walking over to Janine's desk, he hit the play button.

            "Hello, guys, this is Egon. I'm sorry I missed having Christmas with you. They finally reopened the airport this morning, and I'll be arriving at LaGuardia..."

 

            Ray and Winston looked at one another in disbelief as Egon's quiet bass voice informed them of his flight number and time of arrival. When the answering machine clicked off with a final beep, Ray sat down hard in Janine's chair.

            "Egon was snowed in in Ohio."

            Zeddemore nodded. "And Pete was here alone," he said quietly.

            Ray's eyes slid shut. Of all of them, Peter was the one least equipped to deal with being left alone on Christmas. He wouldn't have liked being alone himself, but the holiday had always been hard for Peter, and he and Egon had always made a point of being around and including him in all the festivities. From the way the psychologist had been reacting the last couple of years, he thought they had done a pretty good job, too...until now.

            "He didn't say anything when I called," Ray murmured hollowly. "I called and told him I was driving to Pennsylvania, and he didn't _say_ anything."

            "He probably didn't _know_ ," Winston pointed out. "If he had, knowing Pete, he would have offered to go along to help you drive. When you called, he was probably still expecting Egon to come back."

            Ray nodded, knowing Winston was probably right; but that still didn't make him feel any better. He sighed miserably. "Aw, Winston, Pete was _alone_ on Christmas." He grimaced. "And I bet his dad never called, either."

            "Hadn't when I left." Suddenly Zeddemore looked around, a slight frown playing at his features. "So where is he?"

            The same thought had just occurred to Ray. "His proton pack is gone, and Ecto—" His eyes widened in horror. "Winston, you don't think he went on a bust alone, do you?"

            The black man scowled. "He better _not_ have gone on a bust alone," he said flatly. "Or he's gonna need that thrower when I get my hands on him. If he—"

            The sound of the door opening brought them both around. Egon was standing in the doorway, suitcase in one hand, carry-on in the other. "I could have used a ride from the airport," he observed mildly.

            "Egon!" Ray jumped up from behind Janine's desk, on Winston's heels as they hurried across the room. "I'm sorry—but we didn't even know you were still in Ohio."

            The blond physicist turned a blank look on both of them. "Didn't you wonder where I was this morning?" he asked, totally serious.

            Ray and Winston exchanged a look, then quickly told Spengler about the last twenty-four hours. When they finished, his mouth was set in a tight, grim line. "I knew something was wrong when I called him. But he just blew it off, saying he hadn't heard from his father. I should have known with Peter, nothing is ever that simple."

            "Ease up, m'man," Winston advised, clapping him lightly on the arm. "You couldn't have known what was going on from Ohio. Ray and I were right here, and _we_ didn't know what was going on."

            Stantz broke in impatiently, "We can't do anything about that now. The important thing right now is: _Where is Peter_?" They had already told Egon about the missing proton pack. "Egon, you don't think he went on a bust by himself, do you?"

            "Ordinarily," Spengler replied carefully, "I'd say Peter has far too much sense to do something that incredibly stupid. But if he was alone, and a call came in..."

            "Wait a minute, wait a minute," Zeddemore cautioned. "Maybe we're worryin' for nothing here. He may have left only a few minutes ago—"

            "Was my call still on the machine?" Egon asked suddenly. When Ray nodded, the physicist looked grim. "I left that message hours ago. He wasn't here to pick it up then, and he hasn't been back to check the messages because he wasn't at the airport to pick me up—"

            "Then he's been gone for _hours_!" Ray realized in dismay. "What if he's been hurt or got into trouble? He didn't have any backup along!"

            "Slimer's not here, either," Winston mused.

            "Slimer's not going to do Peter much good if he's been backed into a corner by a Class Six," Egon said tightly. In a totally uncharacteristic gesture that only telegraphed how worried he was, Egon raked his fingers recklessly through his hair and muttered something that sounded like, "Venkman, when I get my hands on you, a Class Six is going to be the least of your problems..."

            "But we don't even know where he might have gone!" Ray turned to Spengler, desperation edging into his voice. "How are we going to find him?"

            Egon shot a quick look at Zeddemore, but carefully avoided Ray's eyes when he answered in a very controlled voice, "I think perhaps we should start contacting hospitals—"

            "Hospitals?" Ray's eyes widened in alarm. "Egon, you don't think—"

            "He's right, Ray," Winston interrupted quietly. "Better to check 'em out and be sure. Besides," he forced a smile, "once we eliminate them, we won't have to worry so much, right?"

            They were going to have to do a lot more than eliminate hospitals for him to stop worrying, but Ray nodded. "Right." He took a steadying breath. "You want me to—"

            "I'll do it," Zeddemore offered quickly.

            "Thank you, Winston." Egon sounded as calm as always, but Ray could see the glint of worry behind his glasses. "Ray, have you checked to see whether any other equipment is missing? Perhaps it might give us some clue as to what Peter thought he was up against."

            "No, I hadn't thought of that..."

            Egon took his arm and guided him away from Janine's desk where Winston was hauling out the yellow pages to start his calls. "Then why don't we do that."

            Ray slid a sideways glance at the taller man and saw the muscles on the angled face pulled tight with strain. He didn't think Egon believed any more than he did that an inventory of the equipment would yield any new information. But if it kept them from thinking about those phone calls Winston was making, then he was all for it.

 

            Ray and Egon were in the basement when they heard the unmistakable—and welcome—sound of Ecto pulling in. He was the first one up the stairs, with Egon right on his heels. They reached the garage area in time to see Peter step out from behind the wheel, a wide grin on his face.

            "Hi, guys," Peter said brightly. Then, slowly, his grin faded. From the looks on his friends' faces, Peter knew instantly and without a doubt that he was in trouble. What he didn't know—and hadn't the slightest clue—was why.

            "Pete, we've been worried _sick_ about you!"

            "Man, where the _hell_ have you been?"

            "Peter, I am very annoyed with you."

            He blinked at them all. "What did _I_ do? I just got here. I haven't had _time_ to do anything."

            Ray stepped closer, and Peter saw that his hazel eyes were shadowed with a mixture of concern and relief. "You went on a bust, didn't you?" he accused, pointing at the proton pack Peter was holding. "Peter, you know better than that! What if something had gone wrong? You could have been hurt or—or—" He broke off without finishing the thought, blinking furiously.

            Peter looked quickly at the other two Ghostbusters. _Oh, shit_!

            "Man, I oughta trash your hide for pulling a stupid stunt like that."

            Another country heard from. Winston looked mad enough to do it, too.

            He looked expectantly at Egon and wasn't disappointed.

            "Peter, I am _very_ annoyed with you."

            That was twice now. Egon must really be pissed. Okay, he could see that all this anger was backed up by some very genuine worry. Since they had all beat him back here and compared notes, they had obviously drawn their own conclusions—wrong as they were—and gone from there. Well, he'd straighten it all out in due time—and bring a smile back to Ray's face, or his name wasn't Doctor Peter Venkman—but first things first. No fair dumping on him on Christmas.

            "All right, you caught me." He assumed what he hoped was an appropriately guilty expression. (It had taken him a lifetime to perfect his patently innocent look so it took some doing.) "I went on a bust."

            Three voices blended in a loud, reproachful, "PE-ter!"

            "You would have loved it, Ray," he said, grinning at the younger man. "It was _fun_."

            The occultist didn't smile. "You could have been hurt, Peter," he insisted, his tone deadly serious. "You didn't have any back-up."

            "But it was a great bust, Ray," he countered in his brightest voice. Leaning inside Ecto, he pulled the trap out from the passenger side of the front seat. Twirling it lazily back and forth, he continued casually, "It really was very interesting." He dropped that comment and watched Egon's face. Despite his mixture of anger and concern, the physicist couldn't quite keep the interest off his face. But he tried.

            "Very annoyed, Peter," he repeated flatly.

            The look in Spengler's eyes told Peter immediately that it was more than this supposed bust that had upset him, and he was pretty sure he knew what it was. He'd set that straight later, too. "In fact," he continued as if Egon had never spoken, "I'd like your opinion on this particular ghost. I'm not sure exactly how to classify it." With a big, innocent grin, he said, "Why don't you take a look at it"—and promptly sprung the trap.

            The three other Ghostbusters jumped back, yelling in alarm as the white light flashed and something shot out of the open trap.

            "Hi, guys!"

            Peter's grin widened as he watched the other three gaze up at Slimer, bobbing happily in the air, their faces frozen in various stages of shock. It was Spengler who found his voice first.

            "I take it then, Peter," he said, in the tone of a man who knew he had been had, "that you were not on a bust."

            "Yes, you may take that, Egon," he retorted serenely. "And now, if everyone's through jumping to conclusions—and on me—"

            "I'm sorry, Peter." Ray was by his side, youthful face earnest, and immediately contrite. "But when we got home and you weren't here, and your proton pack was gone and Ecto was gone, we thought—"

            "Hey, hey, it's okay," he broke in hastily, throwing a companionable arm around the younger man's shoulders in an effort to stop his breathless apology. "I should've left a note, but I thought I'd be back before any of you." He tightened his arm briefly. "I'm really sorry, guys. I didn't mean to worry you."

            To his relief, a bright smile broke out on Ray Stantz's face. "That's all right, Pete. As long as you're okay." Laughing shakily, he turned and gave the psychologist a quick hug. "We thought a Class Six got you."

            "Class Six, hmm?" He grinned happily and rumpled the occultist's auburn hair. "Nothing so exciting, kiddo."

            "Perhaps, Peter, you'll be kind enough to tell us what you _did_ do today...since it seems none of us were here."

            His eyes locked with Egon's, and he silently acknowledged the direct hit. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Egon," he apologized, all traces of his earlier humor gone from his tone. "But I just didn't see any point in telling you about Ray and Winston. There wasn't anything you could have done about it, and it would have just..."

            "Upset me?" Egon levelled a stern look at him. "Yes, Peter, it would have upset me. A great deal. But I was also upset when I arrived home and we thought you had gone out on a bust on your own and gotten into trouble." His voice rose a little. "We were calling hospitals."

            Peter flinched. "Oh, damn," he whispered. "I didn't know..." He looked from Ray's wan face to Winston's serious one. "I really am sorry, guys." Then he turned back to the physicist. "Egon, I'm sorry. The only reason I didn't tell you what was going on was because I didn't want you to worry." Dropping his eyes, he shrugged self-consciously. "I mean, you know how I get around Christmas," he mumbled.

            A touch on his arm brought his head up. "Yes, Peter," Egon said gently, "I do know how you get around Christmas. But the next time..." Spengler gave his arm a little shake. "Let me decide what I'm going to worry about, all right?"

            He managed a faint smile. "Fair enough."

            The belated twinkle of relief in the blue eyes was proof enough that he had been forgiven, and to his own relief, he saw the last traces of worry fade from his friend's face.

            That was two down and... He looked at Winston. The black man walked over and casually hooked an arm around his neck, tightening it just enough to make his point. "You ever scare me like that again, homeboy, and I _will_ trash your hide. Got it?"

            He got it.

            "Now," Winston grinned, ignoring Peter's howls while he thoroughly trashed his hair, "didn't somebody say something about eggnog?"

 

***

            They waited until Peter showered and changed and everyone was settled in the living room, a cup of his famous eggnog in hand, before they started in on him.

            "Y'know, Pete," Winston spoke up quietly, "all you had to do was pick up the phone. Everybody in my family would've been happy to have you over for Christmas."

            Peter smiled to himself as he remembered how—more than once that morning—he had nearly done just that. "I know, Winston. And believe me, just knowing that meant a lot."

            Beside him on the couch, Ray nudged him impatiently in the ribs. "Come on, Pete, give. What _did_ you do today?"

            Looking around at the expectant faces of his friends, all traces of their earlier worry-induced anger gone, Peter sank back into the cushions with a contented smile. now that they knew he was safe and that being alone at Christmas hadn't sent him into a tailspin, they could all relax and he could entertain them a little.

            "Well, to be honest, I spent the first couple of hours this morning feeling royally sorry for myself. I mean, here I was, Peter Venkman—the _famous_ Peter Venkman—alone on Christmas." He tried to look appropriately pathetic, but while Ray patted his arm sympathetically, all he got from Egon was a stern look.

            "Anyhow, after I got past that, I realized I wasn't really alone. I mean, I knew I could have spent the day with Winston and his family; or I could have picked up the phone and run up the phone bill with Spengs here." He threw a grin at Ray so as not to leave the younger man out. "Didn't have your phone number, kid, or I could have—"

            Stantz's face dropped. "I'm sorry, Peter," he apologized immediately. "I should have given you the number. I didn't think—"

            "If I hear one more 'I'm sorry' out of your mouth today, Stantz," he said sternly, "I'm going to go after your Stay Puft doll...and I know where he lives."

            Ray clamped his mouth shut.

            "Okay, back to my story." He was starting to enjoy himself now. "Anyhow, after that little piece of realization finally hit me, and I stopped thinking about poor Peter Venkman, it finally occurred to me that there are lots of people out there who really _don't_ have anyone at Christmas—or the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. I mean..." he took a sip of his eggnog, carefully avoiding anyone's eyes. "I've _got_ family...and even though you weren't all right here, I knew you'd all be back eventually. Even when I was a kid and my dad wasn't around for Christmas, I knew he was out there somewhere, and I could always hope..." His voice trailed off for a moment, and he was suddenly aware of Egon's hand on his shoulder.

            "Anyhow," he continued in a brighter voice, "I decided there was something Peter Venkman could do about that. So, I packed up a little Christmas lunch for two and drove over to Mrs. Faversham's."

            He could feel his face redden at the surprised and pleased reactions of his friends. "All right, all right," he mumbled, waving away their comments, "enough already." Then he smiled, remembering the look on Mrs. Faversham's face when she opened the door and found him there on her doorstep, Christmas dinner in hand. "You should have seen her guys," he said softly. "She was all alone—I mean, she really doesn't have _any_ one."

            "Sure she does, Peter." Ray was smiling at him, hazel eyes warm. "She's got you."

            He ducked his head. "Yeah, well..."

            It was Egon who saved him from mortal embarrassment. "So you had Christmas dinner with Mrs. Faversham. But that doesn't explain the proton pack, Peter."

            "No, it doesn't does it?" he said, shooting his friend a grateful look. "After we had dinner, I took her and Slimer over to the Middlebrook Children's Home—you remember, that orphanage we did that benefit for a few months ago." He tried very hard not to look at the wide, knowing grins on their faces.

            "Peter," Ray exclaimed, "you played Santa Claus!"

            "Nope," he said immediately, "they already had a Santa Claus." He cocked his chin at a jaunty angle and tapped his chest with his thumb. "But they didn't have a Ghostbuster. So the spud and I put on a show for them, didn't we, spud?"

            Slimer, who had been happily bobbing in the area above them, nodded his head so hard he sent splatters of goo everywhere. "Uh huh, uh huh. Put on a show."

            "They loved us," Peter said smugly.

            "Loved us," Slimer agreed happily. "Played all day!"

            "Played all day, did you, Pete?" Winston asked with a twinkle in his eye.

            Venkman made a face at him, but couldn't hide his own grin, remembering how those kids had climbed all over him and how good it felt to put smiles on their faces. "Yeah, well, we all know I'm a heck of a guy," he said dryly.

            "Yeah, and if we forget, we've always got you to remind us," Zeddemore shot back in a matching voice.

            "Anyhow," he finished simply, "that was how I spent my Christmas." He winced, a little sheepishly, remembering his friends' earlier concern. "I really did plan on getting back here earlier, but the kids..."

            "Just didn't want to let you go, did they?" Ray put in, punching him lightly on the arm.

            "Actually," he grinned, "I don't think they wanted to let Mrs. Faversham go. You should have seen her with those kids." His tone turned thoughtful. "You know, that was really good for her. I think I'm going to take her back there again. She could be sort of an adoptive grandmother. It would be great for the kids and her. Maybe I could arrange to get her out there about once a week..." He suddenly realized he as musing out loud and looked around to find his friends all grinning broadly at him. Okay, okay, enough already. Any more of this and he'd ruin his reputation completely.

            "Egon, my man," he said suddenly, taking the physicist's cup, "your glass is empty. Can't have that." Jumping up quickly, he walked over to the punch bowl and busied himself with the eggnog. Behind him, he could hear someone turning on the TV and flipping through the channels, and he relaxed a little. Actually he'd told them all a little more than he had intended, and they seemed to realize it. He heard Ray's excited, "Hey, look! It's a Wonderful Life! I love this movie!" Smiling to himself, he filled Egon's cup up to the rim. He might even sit down and watch it with Ray. But first, to get a little more of this eggnog into Egon...

            "That was a very thoughtful and generous thing you did today, Peter."

            The unexpected sound of Spengler's quite bass voice at his shoulder almost made him drop the cup into the punch bowl. "Geez, Egon, wear a bell around your neck or something," he complained.

            "I mean that, Peter." the older man stepped in front of him, his blue eyes solemn, and Peter heard the quiet pride in his voice.

 

            "If you mean thoughtful in that I finally stopped thinking of myself and started thinking of someone else, then I agree with you, Egon," he said, handing the full cup to Spengler. "But I think you have to give up something to qualify as generous, and believe me, I didn't give up a thing. Mrs. Faversham and those kids gave me a whole lot more than I gave them."

            "That is probably a matter of opinion," the other man said with a smile in his eyes. "I think perhaps you did give up something, Peter, although not in the way that you mean." At the psychologist's blank look, he smiled softly. "I think you may have finally given up some of that pain you've been carrying around all these years."

            Peter met the older man's gaze, and mentally shook his head in amazement. As long as he had known Egon Spengler, the man could still astonish him with his perception of human nature. There were times when he felt like Egon could look directly into his soul and tell him things about himself that even he didn't realize...or perhaps didn't want to admit.

            Dropping his eyes, Peter carefully filled his own cup half-way before murmuring, "You may be right, old buddy."

            "I'm glad."

            The undisguised happiness in his friend's voice brought Peter's head up, and what he saw in the physicist's face sent a warmth through him that had nothing to do with the lethal content of alcohol in his eggnog. Egon must have been waiting a long time to hear him say that. Well, there was one other thing he had been waiting a long time to hear, too.

            Raising his cup, Peter clinked it gently against Egon's. "Merry Christmas, Spengs."

            The wattage behind Spengler's smile could have lit up half of New York. "Merry Christmas, Peter." He emptied his cup of eggnog and blinked, a little owlishly. "This is really good, Peter. Very smooth." He held out the empty cup. "May I have some more?"

            Peter refilled the cup with a carefully smothered grin. "Just how many of these have you had anyway?"

            "Only four or five," Spengler returned, a little brightly. "I didn't eat anything on the plane and..."

            Peter groaned to himself. Egon had been downing this stuff on an empty stomach. All he had wanted to do was mellow out the big guy a little. From the looks of him, if he mellowed out much more, he was going to pass out.

            "Very smooth," Egon repeated, taking the cup from him and drinking the eggnog like milk. "Did you add anything different this year?"

            Putting his arm around the other man's shoulders, Peter turned him away from the punch bowl. "Just a little Christmas spirit, Egon," he grinned. "Just a little Christmas spirit." The physicist swayed a bit as Peter began to guide him back toward the safety of the sofa. "Come on, pal, let's get you off your feet, and then I'm  going to fix you a nice fresh pot of coffee. How does that sound?"

            Egon's eyes had the glassy look of a man who didn't quite know where he was or why he was there. "That's very nice of you, Peter," he said solemnly. "You're a good friend."

            "Um hm. You just keep remembering that."

            "Oh, I would never forget," Spengler assured him seriously. Then he giggled.

            Peter rolled his eyes. Egon Spengler drunk was not a pretty sight.

            "Peter!"

            Winston's reproachful voice brought him up short, and he nearly lost his grip on the physicist. He looked up to find Zeddemore propping Ray up in the corner of the sofa.

            "You want to tell me why Ray is sitting over here staring into space with this big Dopey Dog grin on his face? What the hell did you put in that eggnog anyway?"

            Readjusting his grip on the unsteady physicist, Peter gave his friend's shoulder an impulsive squeeze before he got him moving again. He had had a genuinely good time today and had finally resolved some conflicts within himself that he had carried around for a long time. But it was wonderful to have his family back around him again. He laughed, just because it felt so good. "Just some Christmas spirit, Winston," he called out cheerfully. "Just some Christmas spirit."

            Better make that two pots of coffee.

 

**_< fin>_ **

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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